


feed my new addiction

by bottleredhead



Series: that time a tumblr user/anon prompted me [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anorexia, Eating Disorders, M/M, Prompt Fill, based on personal experience, can be triggering, for anon on tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:39:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottleredhead/pseuds/bottleredhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts as these things are often wont to do: slowly, imperceptibly, so that he who is plagued does not notice until he’s spiraling deeper into a pit of self-destructive behavior with the loop button on. It’s a vicious cycle, one Enjolras never thought he’d end up locked in, but these things never go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	feed my new addiction

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: this can be triggering for those who are suffering/recovering from EDs.

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=122hy07)

\--

_mirror, mirror on the wall_  
 _ruthless to your victim_  
 _suiting you becomes my love_  
 _tied to my reflection_  
 _hunger takes a hold of me_  
 _making my decisions_

It starts as these things are often wont to do: slowly, imperceptibly, so that he who is plagued does not notice until he’s spiraling deeper into a pit of self-destructive behavior with the loop button on. It’s a vicious cycle, one Enjolras never thought he’d end up locked in, but these things never go as planned.

(Or un-planned, in a never-really-thought-of-it kind of way.)

It is the last day of finals of freshman year of university. Enjolras has neither been seen nor heard from by anyone, except for brief glimpses Combeferre has got of him when he steps out of his room to refill his coffee mug.

Enjolras is standing in the bathroom, watching the mirror steam with heat from the running bath as he waits for the water to fill the tub three-quarters of the way through before having to switch to cold water. He wipes the mirror as well as possible with his hand, which is not very much, and examines his reflection before the steam can fog it up again.

His face looks tired, but with an underlying contentment of exams being well and truly done. His hair can use a little conditioner and his scalp is itching because he didn’t have time for anything other than quick showers in a week. Eyes travelling down his body, his hands rest of their own accord on his hips, wanting to know if the bones jutting out are as hard as they look.

The skin stretched over his hipbones is taut, unsinkable as he presses against it. It matches the ribs framing his torso like a corpse’s, all hardness and hollows where flesh should rest. His fingers skitter there, finding the underside of each rib as he digs in. It doesn’t hurt, but the feeling is peculiar and he isn’t sure that he likes it. Turning, he can see the knobs of his back protruding as though trying to form another person from his wasting skeleton.

Because that’s what he looks like: skeletal, a cadaver without its meatsuit, laid gaudy and bare for all to see.

_It’s entirely rational_ , a part of his mind justifies, _that you lose a little weight while subsisting on nothing more than coffee and determination for a week. You look good._

And he does. His eyes are feverish as they skate across his own form in a foggy mirror, but he can’t look away all of a sudden and he likes it.

_Imagine what you’d look like if you lost a little more weight._

The thought comes unbidden into his mind. It’s scary, how much an annoying voice in the back of his head likes it. So he pushes it away, slipping into the bathtub. The water is hot, almost scalding, yet he can’t seem to look away as his skin (pale from spending hours indoors studying) turns red, Fire Truck Engine.

_You can stand to lose a little weight._

He submerges his head, willing the rushing water to drown the voice.

It drowns him, instead, but succeeds in pushing away the voice, for now.

**Author's Note:**

> \- I do not condone or encourage EDs. All 'side-effects' and disordered thoughts/actions are, as mentioned in the tags, based on my own experience with anorexia nervosa with bulimic tendencies. As I am basing this on myself, Enjolras will probably be moving on to the starving/binging/purging cycle in the next part, so just as a heads up.
> 
> \- Title and lyrics are from Skinny by Edith Backlund, which is also possibly triggering. I used to listen to this song a lot when I was going through that ordeal and it describes the situation perfectly, I think.
> 
> And on that not-too-cheerful note, thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are very welcome (now that's a thing I do encourage).


End file.
